So radiant joy on a mother's soul flashes,

While life's ruddy hue paints her fairy one's cheeks;
And as health's precious slumber weighs down his long lashes,
Thought's eloquent voice of unchangefulness speaks
Alluringly, alluringly.

But pain, the glad mother's fond picture disowning,

Her infant has withered with merciless frown:

And none can interpret or quiet its moaning

But death, and in meekness she boweth her down
Enduringly, enduringly.

But the tempest was hushed, and soft breezes with gladness
Sang the tears from the o'erladen branches, at even;
Like the accents of angels decoying from sadness
The childless, who offered her blossom to heaven
Relyingly, relyingly.

Oh! fragrant that eve! but 'twas lost to creation,
By night's rolling vapours too early defiled;
But sweeter her incense of pure resignation
Will rise, till the mother embraceth her child
Undyingly, undyingly.

E. W.

MORAL COURAGE.

THE evening was drawing nigh, ushered in by the gentle moon, which was now slowly rising behind the old and venerable Cathedral of Exeter: it shone on the windows, bringing out into view the exquisite tracery: it gleamed on the buttresses, while each "alternately seemed framed of ebon and ivory;" but there were many passing this holy edifice who heeded not these beauties, but went carelessly on their way, as if an ancient and fair Cathedral, lighted by the “pale moonlight," was as common and uninteresting a sight as paved streets and shop windows. But if it was so to the greater part of the passers by, it was not so at any rate to one person; for under the trees, on the north side of the Cathedral, sat a young boy apparently of about twelve years of age. He was gazing intently on the noble building before him; there was a thoughtful expression on his youthful brow, but it must have been happy thoughts that were passing through his mind, for that the smile which played about his mouth sufficiently attested. He was still in a reverie when he felt somebody touch him on the shoulder, and looking up beheld an acquaintance, a boy about his own age, who gained his livelihood by hawking about the streets needles and cotton.

"Come, John," said the new comer, "what are you sitting moping here for? come along and have a game of play."

"You forget, Robert," replied the boy sorrowfully, “that I am a cripple, and besides I would rather by far sit here and gaze

on that fair moon, the work of the great GOD, and on that noble Cathedral, reared by holy men of old."

“Well, you are a queer fellow, to be sure," replied the other. "What you can see here in that old dismal Cathedral and the moon, which you can see any day, to interest you, I am sure I don't understand."

"O a thousand things," replied the boy; "first, what can be more beautiful than the moon? it looks like what I fancy our thoughts to be, sweet, gentle, and pure; and then it is the work of the great GOD, and how can you call the Cathedral old and dismal looking? it is, to be sure, dark and grey from age; it is a 'timehallowed edifice,' where thousands have since it was built offered up their prayers and praises, and Here he was interrupted by the approach of another boy.

"Come, Bob," cried the new comer, "why spend your evenings in this way? come along with me, and let's see if we can make a few pence either by fair means or foul."

"That boy John," whispered Robert, "is my evil angel; he leads me into theft, and all kinds of wickedness, and I, like a fool, follow wherever he leads; and, in fact, I have not moral courage to say 'no' to anything he proposes." Then, turning round to the stranger, he said doubtfully, "thank you, Richard, I cannot come to-night, for the pilfering tricks we resort to I am afraid are wicked."

“O, very well,” replied the other with a sneer, "I shall go and tell our comrades your reply, and they shall soon all know you for a sneaking, chicken-hearted fellow :" so saying he turned on his heel, and went off whistling.

“O," said Robert, starting up, “I can't bear it, all the boys will be laughing at me; I shall never dare to show my face among them again."

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Stop, Robert, stop," cried John; "come, be a man, and do not let a few wicked boys' laughter lead you to wickedness; come, have a little moral courage, and say 'no.'

"O, I cannot, how can I bear their taunts and sneers, and be called a coward, sneak, and a chicken-hearted fellow?"

"I wish," said John, "Mr. Scott was here, he would tell you how to bear it, and whose example you are following when you meekly put up with taunts and jeers," but turning round he saw Robert was gone; he sighed, took up his crutches, and began slowly to walk home; but when he got to the end of the walk, he turned and took another look at the Cathedral; lovely indeed did that holy edifice now look, standing out in bold relief to the clear blue sky, spangled all over with millions of stars; while the moon, slowly emerging from a silvery cloud, seemed to shine more brilliantly than ever. He involuntarily exclaimed, "How beautiful!" he reached the door of their lowly dwelling, and entered; an old

woman was spinning by the fire; it was his grandmother, the only relation he had in the world, for he was an orphan.

"Come, John," she exclaimed, "what makes you so late! I have made a little bit of fire, because I thought you might be chilly, and the supper's quite ready."

"I thank you, thank you," replied the boy; "I am sure it is very kind of you, grandmother, to consider me so much; I am very sorry I should have been so late." They sat down to their simple supper, which consisted of bread, a few baked apples, and a little milk.

"Mrs. Scott has been here," said the old woman," and has left this book for you," producing as she spoke the Christian Year; "she says she knows you are very fond of sacred poetry, and though in some things the book will be rather above you, yet there are many most beautiful verses in it, which the most simple can understand. She sat here and read some to me, and there was one verse in it I liked it so much, that she kindly went over it more than half a dozen times; I think I can say it to you, 'tis this:"

"Abide with me from morn till eve,

For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,

For without Thee I dare not die."

"I am sure, grandmother," said John, "we can never thank either Mr. or Mrs. Scott enough for all their kindness to us." In the course of their conversation, John related to his grandmother what had taken place between himself and Robert Green. Old Mrs. Page listened attentively, and then answered, “It is indeed a bad thing; for that want of moral courage and fear of the word 'no' has led many persons to the gallows; he who cannot put up with the taunt or laugh of a companion, is not fit to struggle with the world; but, however, I hope that before it is too late, Robert will get a little more strength of character; and I am sure, my dear child, you will do all you can to promote it." Here the good old grandmother kissed the boy, and they separated for the night.

We must now go back to Robert Green. He was not an orphan; but it would perhaps, for some reasons, have been as well for him if he had, for his father and mother were drunkards. We have already related how he could not stand the taunts of Richard Gould. When he left John Page, he darted off after this wicked boy at the sound of his footsteps. Richard turned round, "O, here comes the boy who is afraid the pilferings tricks we resort to are

wicked.'

Robert crimsoned, and laying his hand on Richard's arm, said coaxingly, "you will not say anything more about that to the other boys, will you, dear Dick ?”

"I don't know that, indeed; I think being laughed at will do you good; but I will say nothing more of it, if you will join us tonight in a scheme we have; it will pay us well, and if you assist you shall have a share in the profits, and if not I will expose you to all our acquaintance, and you will have to stand the scorn and laughter of all.”

"But what is it, Dick, that you wish me to do? surely I must know first."

"Come, then, follow me," said Richard, " and you shall know." On they went through some narrow passages and dark alleys, till they came to a small yard, where standing in conversation under the shade of a deep old gothic arch were a small knot of boys, who hailed the arrival with delight. Welcome, Dick,” was the universal cry; "here comes one who can assist us in our dilemma." "And what may that be?" asked the person addressed.

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"Why, now that the matter I spoke to you of is planned, I cannot get anybody to go first to unlock the door; I have the key here, well oiled, so that it cannot make any noise."

Well," replied Richard, "go yourself, George Brown." The boy thus addressed came nearer to him and whispered, "but if any noise should be made, which is probable, very likely the person may be caught, and if so it had better be done by one of the boys who do not know much of our plans, for then they cannot betray us."

“True, very true," replied Richard aloud, and then lowering his voice, he said, "I have a boy here whom I have brought on purpose for some such emergency; we can laugh him into anything;" and, turning round to Robert, he coaxingly said, "here is a very good fellow, who will do anything I ask him. Come, Bob, take this key, and run and unlock the door of that shop, I mean widow Grey's; mind you do it very gently; after you have unlocked it, see if you can open it, and then come down and tell us; you need not be afraid, for most of the people down such little back lanes are in bed and asleep by this time, and Mrs. Grey always goes to bed at seven o'clock, and it is now nine."

"But," interrupted George Brown, "where did you get the key, Richard? you never told me when you gave it me, and are you sure it is a good fit."

"Why I could match any key as long as I have a bit of wax. Come, Robert, are you going."

"What do you want to do after the door is open?” said Robert, through whose mind some faint idea of their purpose suddenly flashed.

"OI will tell you when you return," cried Richard.

"But I shall not go, Dick," replied Robert with unwonted firm

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ness, till I know your purpose."

"Well, then," replied the other fiercely, "you will not know till you have done as you are asked, though I might have saved myself

the trouble of asking such a sneak as you to do anything,” he tauntily added. Various were the emotions that at this moment filled Robert's bosom; he cast his eyes anxiously around, and seeing that these wicked boys were laughing at him, the words, "give me the key," rose to his lips; but at the same time the words of John Pace rung in his ears, "Come, be a man, and don't let a few wicked boys' laughter lead you to wickedness; come, have a little moral courage, and say 'no;"" the little negative rose to his lips, and was on the point of quitting them, when it was suddenly repulsed by the following words of Richard Gould.

Come, go home, Robert; we want no mean spirited boys here, get along, and remember we all think you a coward, or take the key and show you are really a good hearted fellow, and you shall have a share in the profits."

"O then," cried Robert, "you are going to rob the shop."

"That is not your concern; come, take the key, and show you are no coward; I do not really believe you are one; I have just been telling these boys you are the most good natured fellow alive; and," he added, but so low that Robert could not hear him, "to be laughed out or into anything." Having only heard the first part of this speech, Robert's vanity was gratified; and afraid of again incurring the taunts of his companions, he seized the key and departed. Soon after he again made his appearance.

"Well," cried Richard, “have you managed it ?" His answers gave much pleasure to his associates; they all instantly set off, and entered the shop in a few minutes; the rent-box, as well as the drawer containing the gains of the shop, were rifled; it was all done very quickly; but Robert, where was Robert during these proceedings? and what was he doing? He was standing in a dark corner of the shop meditating. But were his meditations sweet? O no, far from it; he knew he was fond of being noticed and praised by his companions, so that he was often induced to go further in acts of adventure than he knew to be right, and a smile of derision or a word of reproach, or even the fancy that he was thought of little account, would make him more unhappy than when he had really done wrong; but he now felt it was a feeling that he ought to struggle against. So advancing to the table, he said doubtfully, "don't you mean to leave the poor woman anything? how will she be able to pay her rent? O how I wish I had not opened the door; it will make me unhappy all my life, to think that I have been the cause of turning a poor lone woman in the

streets."

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'Come," muttered Richard, "this is not the time for soliloquising," and, turning to the other boys, he said, "I think we have taken all we can get, so come along, and we will divide when we get back to our court." They quickly and quietly closed the door as they were coming away.